


With a little Help from my Friends

by Saxifactumterritum



Series: Moments universe [15]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Stargate, kind of angst, kind of not angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/pseuds/Saxifactumterritum
Summary: Ronon visits John, John's frustrated, life goes onTeyla visits John, in chapter two, and, then, life goes on I guess





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finding life a little bit frustrating at the moment, lol. It might be showing in this fic

Ronon checks the map for the fourth time before pulling into the gravel lane that he’s pretty sure is the way to go (his phone fell into the ocean and now only partially works, and he has no GPS). There’s a broken sign a few metres up the lane that says ‘Ellis ltd’, which is reassuring. It’s less reassuring five minutes later when he’s still driving. But, no, there’s a square of gravel at the end of the gravel lane and he recognises John’s small crappy car. It’s terrible for the environment, a car that old. Ronon pulls in beside it and gets out, shutting the door of his nice compact zero-emissions car. It’s supposedly zero-emissions; McKay has other opinions, he’s offered to ‘fix it’. Ronon is not letting him anywhere near it. 

Ronon looks around and heads through the gate. Up here, things are well sign-posted and it takes him no time at all to find the main office, with a front desk. No one’s there, just an empty desk with a bell. Ronon gives it a ding and leans, waiting, bag slung over his shoulder, yawning. He let the lease on his place in the city run out, being away so often it seemed dumb to be paying rent especially as he didn’t even have much stuff he needed to keep anywhere. Now he’s back here between stuff, though, and John said he could stay, they can drink beers, hang. It’ll be good. If he can just get the keys, have a nap, maybe take a run. He sniffs under his arm. Oof, and a shower. Definitely a shower.

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” A woman says, coming out of the back and taking a seat. “Have you got a lesson?”

“Nope,” Ronon says. 

“A trip booked?” She suggests, spinning a little to the left. 

“Nope,” Ronon says, grinning. 

“Are you chasing an invoice, then?” she asks, opening up a file. “I know there’s an invoice outstanding for parts, I thought Ellis paid it but Brendan gave me a heads up yesterday that it hadn’t gone out.”

“Not that, either,” Ronon says. 

“Ok, so what are you here for?” she asks, sounding exasperated. Finally. She has a lot of cool.

“I’m here for Shep,” he says, letting his smile go a little bit warmer, leaning a little more enticingly. Then a little further away; right, a shower. First on the list. “Who have I got the pleasure of talking to?”

“John’s in the office, come on,” she says, ignoring the question and the leaning. 

Ronon shrugs and follows. The office is a small room, four desks shoved in. It’s empty, pretty much, just Shep’s bent back, facing the wall. He’s grumbling as he types, squinting at the screen. The woman from the desk waves Ronon in and then inches past, back out, heading down the hall. 

“Thanks,” Ronon says, turning. She throws him a smile. She has a good smile. 

“Hey Ronon, give me a sec,” John says. Ronon helps himself to a chair and sets himself spinning across to bump the desks, round and round until John thunks the printer next the computer and swears at it until it spits out papers. “OK, that’s that done. At least I won’t be teaching her again, jesus. Ok. Keys, right? Right.”

John goes rooting under the table, pulling up a bag. He rummages through, then through some drawers, then swears some more. 

“Nice,” Ronon says. “While you turn this place upside down, what’s her name? The woman who let me in.”

“Huh? Who brought you- oh, I know. They’re in my locker. Break room,” John says, getting up. “C’mon. Who brought you in? I didn’t notice.”

“A great woman, really muscular. I bet she fights,” Ronon says. “Has a nice smile.”

“Could be anyone, all the women here are ex-service. Get up, come on,” John says, giving the chair a light push. Ronon gets and trails him out. “What about Jennifer?”

“She’s dating Vega,” Ronon says. “That pilot, Sam’s friend. She asked Jen out, and I hadn’t quite got around to that yet, just the sleeping with her part.”

“You’re a rake,” John says, shoving into the other room. 

The woman from before is sat at a little rickety table with someone else, eating. John inches around them to a couple of lockers stacked up near a window that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a while. He kicks the locker on the bottom and it springs open, crouching to drag things out. 

“Damn it, the hell? Have you guys seen my keys?” John asks. 

John straightens again, face a bit flushed, hair looking even more a mess than usual. Ronon leans on the doorframe and grins. He hasn’t seen John in a while and now he’s kind of realising he missed him a bit and is remembering how fond he is of him. Paperwork and bureaucracy always made him chaotic and flustered, head in the clouds, day-dreaming. 

“They’re hanging in the office, on the hook for keys, where you put them every morning since you dropped them in the fuel tank and Coleman threatened to come in with the baby and throw you in after them,” the guy says, not looking up from his magazine. 

“Right,” John says, inching back around his colleagues toward Ronon.

“Introduce me,” Ronon says, not wanting to lose the opportunity, eyes returning to the woman.

“This is Ronon, stood in my way making like a tree. Amelia Banks, and Chuck,” John says, waving a hand behind him. “Stay, flirt, you have until I find my keys.”

That, it turns out, is plenty long enough. After the third crash Chuck goes to make sure John’s not destroying the office and Ronon’s able to charm Amelia and get her number and a promise for a drink while he’s in town. Ronon heads out whistling, tossing the keys in the air, happy. He definitely needs a shower, though. First order of business. 

John gets back by about five, banging on his own front door and barging in when Ronon gets down to answer it, damp from his shower, dressed nice. He went for a run first, not wanting to showe twice, and he texted Amelia and she said she could do tonight for a drink, so he’s skipped the nap. John comes into the house and goes straight for the kitchen, kicking off his sneakers, thumping about in cupboards until he has a peanut butter and banana sandwich. Ronon sits at the table and watches, waiting for the opportune moment. It comes when John’s eaten half his food and is leaning against the counter, looking relaxed. 

“I’m going out this evening,” Ronon says. 

John frowns, turning to look him up and down. Ronon lets him, sees it dawn on him that he’s being abandoned for a date, sees the short flush of annoyance give way to amusement. Ronon grins. 

“Is it Banks, or did you pick up someone else between here and work?” John asks. 

“Banks.”

“Good call, she knows karate. I’d bet on her in a fight every time,” John says, turning for the other half of his sandwich. “Ok. I call dibs on your time tomorrow, though, you haven’t been around for months.”

“You could’ve come with,” Ronon says, shrugging. They’ve been filming a documentary about the impact capitalism and colonialism have on global warming. John shrugs back. 

“There is a slight chance that I’m getting bored,” John says, suddenly, looking right away from Ronon. As if it’s a shameful thing.

“So come up with us next time I offer,” Ronon says. “You always say you don’t miss it.”

“I don’t. I didn’t,” John says. “I don’t. Shit, Rodney’s home, that’s his car.”

“Tomorrow. You, me, beer,” Ronon promises. John nods, stuffing the last of the sandwich into his mouth and pushing off the counter, greeting McKay as he bustles into the kitchen also making a beeline for cupboards. 

“You made food and didn’t save any for me?” McKay says, even as he’s kissing John hello. “You taste like peanut butter and banana I love peanut butter and banana you’re a terrible husband.”

“We’re not married,” John grumbles.

“Whatever. You’re a terrible lover, then, do you prefer that? Do we have kitkats?” McKay’s reaching over John’s shoulder for the cupboard, pulling out chocolate bars. 

“Can I get one of those?” Ronon asks. 

“Hi Ronon,” McKay says, tossing one over. “I want to order pizza tonight, you like pizza right? You can sort that, John? Good. I’ll be in the office if you want me.”

McKay bustles back out again, having added a bunch of other snacks to the kitkat and kissing John again and then he’s gone. John looks unruffled, his hair ever more messed but otherwise untouched by hurricane McKay. 

“I’m eating out,” Ronon says, checking his phone for the time and where Amelia wants to meet, and double checking that there are plans for food. “Pretty sure.”

“Yeah I know,” John says. “Don’t worry, Banks is all about eating, if you’re meeting her there’ll be food. We’re not ordering pizza, we had pizza yesterday, we have food here.”

“Okay,” Ronon says. “Yep, Amelia says obviously we’re eating. I’m gonna go put a shirt on or something, it sounds fancier than this vest.”

“Ronon, everything is fancier than that vest, you wore it under your uniform, I swear there’s still my blood on there somewhere,” John says. 

He’s pulling vegetables and salad things out of the fridge. Ronon’s glad he’s not going to have to eat all of that. Fruit and vegetables are fine, but he wants chips and a burger. He finds himself a better shirt, stops by McKay’s office to nick a GPS, and then heads out. 

* * *

Amelia is the best kind of company; easy, funny, enthusiastic about things. She’s got a streak of good sense and as the night gets later and they get tipsy and then a little drunk and the conversation turns more serious, she proves to be quiet and thoughtful. They share a cab home, she lives further out than McKay and John so she drops him home, climbing out after him to kiss him goodnight on the pavement. It’s gone 2am but there are lights still on inside and when Ronon tries to slip quietly in, John calls out a greeting from the livingroom. Ronon heads through and finds John with his feet up, in shorts and a t-shirt, listening to a podcast or the radio or something. 

“Good night?” John asks, blinking sleepily up at Ronon. 

“Yeah, she’s great,” Ronon says. “You’re gonna need to give me a ride to my car tomorrow, I drank a bit much to drive home. Why’re you up?”

“Insomnia,” McKay says, coming through from the kitchen with a mug of what smells like one of Teyla’s funky teas. “Here, you’re mad for wanting it but I found it in the back of a cupboard, so. Best partner ever, right?.”

“I’ll add it to the sky writing,” John says, sitting up a bit more and accepting the mug. “He took off my boots and made me grungy tea.”

“You’re an ass. I’m going back to bed,” McKay says, yawning, shuffling past Ronon to bend and kiss John’s hair before trundling up the stairs. 

Ronon plops himself down on the couch and stretches out, nudging John’s leg with his own. John sips his tea, listens to what Ronon recognises as _ the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy _, and ignores Ronon poking at him. Ronon goes to get himself a snack, finding a bunch of leftover pasta out and a bag of chips from the cupboard. John’s dozing when Ronon returns to the sofa, so Ronon sits carefully, feeling the alcohol as he lowers himself down and slumps back. John’s familiar warmth and closeness makes Ronon feel sleepy, too, and he sprawls more comfortably and sinks into it. 

“You eating those?” John asks, voice soft. 

“Mm,” Ronon hums, eyes closed. 

“Alright.”

They sit together like that for a while, the night closing around them, peaceful. 

“You alright?” Ronon asks, resting a hand against John’s shoulder. John shrugs, leaning into the touch, so Ronon wraps an arm all the way around him and tugs him against his side. 

They listen to the radio show. John’s got the curtains drawn, so they can’t tell if it’s getting lighter outside. There’s a clock ticking somewhere, a humming sound from something electrical, creaks as the house settles. A car drives past outside. Ronon can feel John relaxing, dozing again and drifting deeper. He still recognises John’s sleep-breathing, recognises when John falls deep enough to leave the dreams behind. It’s comforting, after watching and recording the world crumbling to pieces around them, to come back to this familiar certainty. To still know that Sheppard will always fall back into their friendship without a pause. Ronon closes his eyes and savours it, the voices on the radio washing over him.

He doesn’t realise that their dozing has turned into deeper sleep until he wakes up, feeling gummy and hungover and achy. They’ve shifted, John’s curled against the arm of the sofa and Ronon’s slid down, he’s using John’s hip as a pillow. It’s not real comfortable, Ronon hauls himself more upright and slumps into the cushions of the sofa instead, which are softer than John, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“Morning,” comes a cheerful voice from the right. 

Ronon squints that direction. McKay’s sat there, eating the pasta and chips Ronon brought in last night and never got to. He’s got an ipad balanced on his knee, a notebook on one arm of the chair, his phone on the other, and the news is playing quietly on the TV with captions scrolling. 

“Huh,” Ronon says, watching the TV screen absently, paying half attention to the politicians spouting bullshit. 

“No, come on! That was- fuck,” McKay says. He’s probably not talking to Ronon, Ronon lets it wash over him. 

“Told you,” a slightly tinny voice says, very smug. McKay’s phone, Ronon identifies, dismissing that too. 

“Yes, yes, so fix it already,” McKay says. “I don’t think it’s my lazy math that’s the problem, though, I think John’s right. Which I hate, it’s not fair.”

“He’s the one who actually flew the thing,” the phone voice says. 

“‘Flew’ is a generous way of describing it,” McKay mutters. 

“Did not crash,” John says, voice slow, gravelly, barely awake. 

McKay glances their way and rolls his eyes. Ronon yawns, letting his head rest against the back, listening idly to McKay bickering on the phone, getting up to go to the kitchen, fading out and then back in. A mug is nudged against Ronon’s shoulder and it’s coffee and Ronon loves these people. McKay plants a knee firmly on the sofa, pressed against Ronon’s thigh, which is weird until Ronon realises he’s hauling John into a more upright position. 

“Drink coffee and wake up a bit more, then I’ll lever you out of the cushions,” Rodney says, giving John a mug like Ronon’s. “You’re helping, Dex, don’t go back to sleep. I’m bribing you, not just being generous with caffeine.”

John makes a grouchy sound and kisses McKay’s bicep. McKay goes back to his work and Ronon and John grumble back and forth a bit, and John says it’s not fair that he’s practically hungover without even getting to drink anything, and Ronon admits he hardly drank last night, and John laughs like a drain, delighted, and calls Ronon old. 

“I have to go to Radek’s lab,” McKay says, interrupting after a while. John’s in the middle of ribbing Ronon about something that happened nearly ten years ago, so Ronon’s happy to give McKay his attention. “Come on, John, up.”

“Fine,” John says. “Ronon, I’ll just hang onto your shoulder, stand up slowly. Rodney’ll do the rest.”

Ronon shrugs and does as he’s told, bracing himself to be hauling John’s weight. John’s just using him for balance, though. Ronon stretches out his own stiffness and aches and pains, then heads off to shower, listening to McKay and John and whoever’s on the phone, all three of them arguing over math now. McKay’s gone when Ronon’s clean and dressed, John’s making eggs and humming. He limps a bit bringing things to the table but he suggests a run after breakfast so he’s probably fine. They eat for a while and then just sit around with coffee, catching up and reminding each other of stupid stuff they used to do. It’s nearly lunch by the time they get out for a run, and then they go get Ronon’s car, which means that when they get back it’s perfect timing for beers. 

“What’s the thing you didn’t crash?” Ronon asks, “you’re a test pilot somewhere?”

“Kind of, Rodney’s consulting on a weird little plane, it’s supposed to be a stealth thing - small, silent, you know. Anyway, it doesn’t work, he dragged me in,” John says. “I do a bit of it, testing things.”

“You could do that,” Ronon says. 

“It’s actually dull, and I don’t get to fly as much as I do with Ellis,” John says. “I dunno, Ronon, I miss it, I miss having a purpose, I miss running ops, I miss my friends, hell I even miss the desert sometimes.”

“You remember we used to get shot out of the sky, right?” Ronon says, holding his beer against his cheek, resting his head back, basking in the afternoon sunshine. They’re out on the deck, Ronon has his feet up on a cooler, John’s sat forward with his elbows on his knees, already on his third bottle. 

“I remember, in vivid, colourful detail sometimes,” John says, grimacing. 

“I don’t miss it,” Ronon says.

“Good for you.”

“No, I miss, like you said; there are things I miss about it, but not enough to go back,” Ronon says. “I used to believe it was a good fight, yeah? We had an enemy, we were protecting people.”

“Right,” John says. “Exactly. A purpose.”

“I don’t believe it anymore,” Ronon says. “Not in the ethics of war, or that it protects anyone, or in the righteousness of soldiers. Good men doing the right thing, standing up for truth and justice. I do that other ways now.”

“I was career military, I never really believed the bullshit,” John says. Ronon snorts. “What?”

“You were the most sentimental CO I ever had, Shep. You’d say things like ‘we don’t leave our people behind’ and ‘we stand up for the little guy’, and -”

“Fine, fine,” John sighs, running a hand through his hair and squinting. “Yeah, ok, fine so I signed up to serve and protect like a dummy. I knew it was bullshit,but I wanted to serve and protect the guys, the people out there who didn’t have the choices I did, who put their lives on the line for the bullshit. I wanted to serve _ them _.”

“What about civilian search and rescue? Or the fire service? You could fly life flight,” Ronon suggests. John’s looking embarrassed and confused about his speech, so Ronon mostly ignores it. It’s not anything he doesn’t know already, John always did have an almost obsessive focus on doing the job but also protecting each other, having everyone’s back, not leaving anyone behind. “Come help us save the world from capitalist pigs one documentary at a time. Eat the rich.”

“I _ am _the rich,” John mutters, setting aside his bottle and shoving Ronon’s feet off the cooler to get another. 

“Huh, so you are,” Ronon says.

“I thought I was good with this. Who doesn’t want a peaceful life? I love Rodney, I like our house, we have good friends, life’s good. Great, even,” John says. “I’m so god-damned bored.”

They go around in circles on it for a while. Ronon gives up on offering solutions and just listens, reminding John now and then that he doesn’t really want to go back to dropping bombs on targets they couldn’t always be sure of, doesn’t really miss the hurry-up-and-wait of base life, doesn’t particularly want to go get himself blown up again. Ronon remembers the one time he flew with John when they crashed, really crashed not the bad landings Lorne used to call crashes or the times they limped home. No, the time they fell out of the sky, engine stalling, the rotors still. He remembers Shep’s calm voice over the headset giving instructions as they plummeted, remembers not worrying about anything, remembers a last ‘blue skies, guys, clear blue skies’, and then they’d hit. John took the brunt of it, somehow managed to plough them into the sand at an angle that they didn’t all die instantly. 

“Let me talk to a buddy of mine,” Ronon says, eventually. It’s getting dark and they’re both drunk, John’s lying on the ground because the world was ‘spinny’. Ronon’s better off but not by much. 

“I’m your buddy,” John says, softly. 

“Another buddy, different one. Not you,” Ronon says. Then he frowns, he’s lost the thread. Ah yes. “Guy called Tyre. Was a soldier, PJ like me, after you got out. He’ll have more leads than I do, he’s always asking me for pilots.”

“‘kay,” John mumbles, starting singing. 

He falls asleep out there and Ronon nurses his beer, texts Amelia, thinks about their service days. McKay comes back and joins him, bringing a pizza and a blanket. He seems to think it best to leave John to sleep where he is, Ronon follows his lead. 

“Did you spend all afternoon coming up with ways to cure his restless boredom?” McKay asks, voice light but with an edge. Ronon grunts noncommittally, not wanting to step on John’s happily unwedded bliss. McKay sighs exasperatedly. “It’s not me keeping him from charging head first into danger.”

“OK,” Ronon assures. McKay just rolls his eyes and grudgingly offers him the last slice of pizza, him being the guest. Ronon eats it. 

“He doesn’t want to go,” McKay says, looking out at the sky and away from Ronon. “Hit up all your ex-military pals by all means, but you might not want to get their hopes up too high. He’s not going to go, he never does.”

“Oh,” Ronon says. 

“He’s an experienced pilot with an honourable discharge at the rank of lieutenant colonel, he’s flown everything, he’s got good references, his experience and licences and flight hours are all up to date, and he keeps up with industry. Job offers aren’t exactly thin on the ground. He could do anything he wanted,” McKay continues, looking down at John, face all softness, amused fondness, pride. 

Ronon grunts. They sit silent until John wakes up singing. McKay hauls John off the floor and props him in a chair, gives him a bottle of water, and brings out the slices of pizza they kept for him. He sits with them until John’s eaten the pizza, then he goes to bed, in the middle of John’s rambling retelling of the Alien movies. All of them. Ronon nods along, thinking about John here, in this funny little apartment, with his job that doesn’t change the world, coming up now and then with Ronon and flying right into storms. 

“I don’t get it,” Ronon says. 

“Huh? Oh, well, I think she just… shot it,” John says, squinting at his water bottle. “This isn’t beer.”

“Sure is,” Ronon says. “Not that, I’ve seen the movies, you’ve made me watch them plenty.”

“Huh. Cool.”

“I don’t get you, here, this. Why don’t you do something?” Ronon says. “Anything.”

“Oh,” John says, looking down at his bare feet, cheeks heating. “Rodney talked.”

“Yeah, John. Why spend… all day telling me… I don’t care what you do for a living, You don’t have to pretend you find it boring just because I would,” Ronon says. 

“I’m not pretending. I am bored, and restless, and I want to run and, and, do something brave that means something, something purposeful, I want to get up and go places, live. God, Ronon, I want to experience life, Jesus,” John says, drunk and slurring and words tumbling out. Ronon blinks, surprised. “I can’t do it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not frustrated and trapped and, and, bored. I need this, I need it, I need it.”

Ronon nods, meeting John’s slightly desperate gaze. He believes it. 

“But, I still _ want _,” John says, looking away and getting up, stumbling away from Ronon and swaying. “I want so badly to get up and go, like you say. Do things. Help. I just… haven’t got much left to offer.”

“Alright,” Ronon says, getting up too and going to steady John, who looks seconds away from falling over. 

“I’m trying to get it back. I’m getting better,” John mumbles, holding Ronon’s shoulder. “I’m trying to get better. Then I can do more.”

“You do fine,” Ronon says, tugging him closer and kissing his hair. John used to drag himself back out of these hugs as soon as he could, but now he leans into it, into Ronon, sighing, arms around him. Ronon pulls him close. 

“If you need me, I’m there,” John says. 

“Yeah.”

“I could fight, you know? Or come with you into the storms, or fly your cameras for your docus. I saw that one on youtube about Hawai’i, you’re brilliant,” John says. “But I’m trying to… um… all part of this grand scheme I have, to live to an old age. Be here for Rodney. For my friends. I never meant to live this long.”

“I remember,” Ronon says. None of them had, they’d all been reckless. But John was ready to die in a way that frightened Ronon sometimes. 

“Now I mean to live,” John says. “So I’ll bear the boredom.”

“You can fly for me,” Ronon says, holding on tight. “Whenever you want. We’ll find a use for you. And I won’t suggest anything else yet.”

They lie down on the deck together to look at the stars. John’s so drunk, Ronon’s sobering in the cool air and after some water and John’s last slice of pizza, but John’s just gone. Ronon lies beside him, holding his hand, watching the tears track over John’s cheeks, unnoticed. He waits for the cold to start bugging him, then hauls John up and helps him to bed, knocking on the door. McKay opens up at once, as if he was waiting, and John staggers into his arms, the door closing on Ronon with a last glance from McKay and a call of goodnight from John. He makes his way to the spare room he never got to last night and stretches out on the bed, wondering if he’ll be able to sleep. He’s tired, though, and tipsy, and he’s out before he can get to any real thoughts. 


	2. Chapter 2

John likes the evenings he gets home before Rodney. There aren’t many of them, Rodney works from home a lot and every time he renews his contract up at the college he makes sure he works in that he only has to work late once a week (and only for postgrads). This week, though, Rodney and Radek are reworking something they published about eight years ago, Rodney alight with excitement at the thought that maybe things have progressed enough that they can actually apply some of it. John’s pretty sure they’re just blowing things up somewhere. It means he gets home first, and he has the house to himself for a glorious couple of hours. He wanders around in his underpants (‘ _ what if the neighbours see! _ ’); he puts the TV onto ESPN and turns it up loud; he plays a couple of games without getting his butt kicked on the Playstation; he lines up all the books on the shelves in the livingroom and hallway and reorders them to  _ his  _ system; he reorganises the drawers in the kitchen and makes everything neat. He’s just lining up the bread-bin and counter-top electrics, pleased Rodney isn’t there to tell him he’s a neat freak, when the phone rings. 

“Hey buddy,” he answers, assuming it’s Rodney calling about dinner (it’s about that time, Rodney’s been calling every day to make sure John cooks for him). “Just about to get started, I thought I’d make pizza tonight.”

“That sounds so nice,” Teyla says, the other end of the phone. 

“Oh! Hey, I thought you were Rodney. Nice to hear from you,” John says, grinning, turning to lean on the counter. 

“I am not Rodney,” Teyla says, sniffing a bit. She sounds kinda congested. 

“You okay? You got a cold?” he asks, thinking about if he needs to go out for ingredients or if Rodney would be okay with just a margarita. Maybe there’s some pepperoni, but in all likelihood, Rodney’s eaten that by now. “Oh, I think we’ve got some fancy cheese, I’ll just make really cheesy pizza.”

“I have not got a cold,” Teyla says. And then John is jerking upright and making for his boots and the door out of instinct as Teyla stifles a sob. “That sounds really nice.”

“Yeah,” John says, stopping himself from bolting out the door. It’s a three hour drive to Teyla’s (despite what Lorne and Rodney both now insist, it really is only three hours). He can’t just run and get her, and if there is danger he will need to do something else, call someone else. “Uh, sit rep?”

“What? Oh, John. It’s fine, there’s no fire,” Teyla says, and she sounds better, more like herself. Exasperated. “I just… I need your help.”

“Sure,” John says, going back to the kitchen and pulling out ingredients for pasta; he can do that one handed and keep talking to Teyla. “You’ve got it. What do I do?”

“I just need a break, I can’t do this, I can’t do this!” she says, and her voice is breaking again, her breathing going shaky. She sounds scared; he’s heard her scared, he recognises it. 

“I’m gonna make pasta, afterall,” John says, slowing his heart-rate and lowering his voice. “I have a bag here, the type that looks like shells. Conchiggle. We’ve got these fancy cutting boards Rodney bought, they’ve got patterns. Nice knives, too.”

“You do this for Rodney,” Teyla says, pulling herself back from the edge a little. “I’ve heard you, inventorying my home while he panics.”

“Yeah,” John agrees. “Ok, so I’m gonna put the kettle on, we got a new one recently. We’ve got this fancy onion chopping thing, it’s also a garlic press. I’ll make sauce, too.”

He carries on telling her what he’s doing, describing the objects around him when he reaches a lull in activity. He’s not good at talking, at thinking of things to say, but when he’s not home and Rodney panics he wants John to talk, so John started doing this. It seems to be good for Teyla, too; she listens, he can tell she’s crying but she’s calmer by the time the pasta’s cooked and the sauce is gently simmering. 

“Shit, Torren’s home,” Teyla says. 

“You’re fine, just tell him you’re sad about Monsters inc still from last night,” John says, lips twitching. 

“It was sad, you fucker,” Teyla hisses. John hears the front door open and Halling, Jinto and Torren’s voices. “I’m in the kitchen! Uncle John rang, you want to talk to him?”

John doesn’t like talking to Torren on the phone, but he braces himself and does it, tells Torren about the pasta as well, listens to Torren rambling about school. He grates some cheese and sets the table then sits down, waiting for Teyla to come back. She does eventually. 

“Sit and eat that nicely. Thanks, John,” Teyla says, letting out a long, heavy sigh. 

“What do I do?” he asks again. “I could come up for a bit again? Isn’t Kanaan there, by the way? Ronon’s back.”

“Yes, he is here, he’s taken Marta to visit his father today,” Teyla says. “He will be home soon, he’s bringing dinner.”

“Ohh Husani’s cooking?” John asks. “He’s such a good cook!”

“We took you once. One time,” Teyla says. 

“We email,” John says. It’s not his fault all his friends’ parents like him. “He sends me recipes.”

“You’re an adequate cook,” Teyla says. “At best.”

“Rodney and Lorne do the cooking of the recipes, I just do the emailing,” John says. “Or maybe Torren could come stay with us for a weekend? Send McKay up the wall?”

“I’ll come. Torren and Marta can stay with Kanaan,” Teyla says, then pauses. “I’ll bring Marta with me. I might stay a few nights.”

“As long as you like,” John assures. “Sure, come on down, we can make pizza, drink a few beers, relive our past glory days.”

“Speak for yourself, I am still living my glory days,” Teyla says. 

John hears a car pull up on the forecourt and goes to get the front door, listening to Teyla explain the many brilliant and awesome projects she’s currently working on. John leans in the doorway, watching Rodney bundle out of the car. He’s brought Radek back, John would’ve liked a head’s up he’s not really sure he wants company tonight. He goes to grab another plate and set out space at the table, though. He keeps Teyla on the line even when Rodney and Radek come through. Rodney sends Radek to wash his hands and to look at something, coming to kiss John hello before following. He rubs his cheek against John’s, smiling. 

“Rodney’s home,” John tells Teyla. “He’s got some stuff to do with Radek, I have about ten more minutes before dinner.”

Rodney gives a questioning look then nods, kissing John again before following Radek out and upstairs. John sits again and listens to Teyla making plans to come down. He doesn’t ask questions, Teyla will tell him what he needs to know she doesn’t need questions. She sighs again, nine minutes later. 

“It’ll be okay,” he says. 

“You said that right before our ‘daring rescue’ became us stuck in the middle of a FUBAR rescue days away from getting to ex- part of the exfil,” Teyla says. 

“We got out of that just fine,” John points out. 

“Hm. Alright, then,” Teyla says. “I’m sorry for holding up your dinner. Thank you.”

“Sure,” John says. “You’re not holding us up, anyway, Rodney is!”

He shouts the last up the stairs and Rodney grumbles back, but Radek is clearly hungry - he appears eagerly barely a minute later. John says goodbye to Teyla and goes to drag Rodney away from his project.

* * *

Getting ready for bed, later, John’s feeling stiff and achy and it’s making him a bit pissy. He wants to be pissy at Rodney, but he found a text from Rodney asking about Radek, and there were two missed calls, so he can’t really do that. He just grunts in answer to any questions Rodney asks, does his teeth, pulls on his pyjamas and lies down.

“Dare I ask if you want a massage, Mr grouchy pants?” Rodney asks, all unimpressed. 

“Colonel grouchy pants,” John corrects, into his pillow. “And yes please. Shoulder hurts.”

Rodney likes giving massages, John knows. He says it’s all boring, but it means he has a captive audience. John has to listen to him babbling about his day and his research and his and Radek blowing things up and people being idiots. It’s a familiar buzz, it soothes, especially as the pain blurs under Rodney’s practiced hands. John relaxes, muscles loosening up, feeling drowsy and more content. Rodney kisses his bad shoulder. 

“I didn’t do my teeth yet, and I want a shower,” Rodney murmurs. “Just gonna sit a bit longer, though.”

He rubs over John’s back and shoulders, not massaging now just gentle, easy strokes, humming softly. He sounds happy. It eases something in John and he reaches out, snagging Rodney’s hand. 

“Thanks.”

“Better?” Rodney asks. 

“Mm. Teyla’s coming to stay, she’s bringing Marta. Day after tomorrow,” John says.

“Is she alright?”

“Not sure,” John says. “Might’ve had a fight with Kanaan, maybe.”

“We’re not fighting,” Rodney assures, kissing his shoulder again before getting up. “Oh, how long?”

“No idea. Few days?”

“Okay,” Rodney says, and goes to shower. 

  
  


* * *

A few days turns into five days and Teyla’s still there, taking over the living-room and the spare bedroom and the kitchen. John likes coming home to her and Marta and food, he gets used to scooping Marta up and feeding her before the rest of them eat, gets used to sitting quietly on the deck with her and Teyla in the evenings, gets used to Teyla barely awake in the kitchen getting food for Marta in the mornings, grumpy and hair all cloudy and displaced, stealing his coffee. 

“Oh my god, please, please,” Rodney whispers, the morning of day six, dragging John into the office. John’s still in pyjamas and quite sleepy, it’s a Saturday. He leans into Rodney and hums, kissing him, stealing the coffee off the desk. “Yes, yes, good morning to you too, that’s mine give it back,  _ make it stop _ .”

“Did she take your coffee again?” John mumbles, gulping down as much coffee as he can before Rodney snatches it back then perching on the edge of the desk and looking through Rodney’s papers, seeing if there are any planes in here. 

“She did, and the kitchen is a mess, and the baby is there  _ on the floor _ . It is  _ messy,” _ Rodney hisses, peering out of the door to check for eavesdroppers before closing it firmly and moving the papers out of John’s reach. John picks up one of the books instead and flicks through. 

“Mmm,” he agrees. 

“And, and, if you can believe this, she offered me  _ pancakes _ ,” Rodney makes a significant noise. Kind of snorting. He snatches the book away, too. John finds a plate of toast and eats half of that. “It’s Saturday! You can’t have pancakes on a saturday! Besides, she was making them out of banana. Just like… banana and eggs, and then you fry it. And then fruit. No sugar or anything good in it!”

“How dare she,” John says, Rodney snatches away his food and John gets up, going to the shelf and finding a binder to look at. 

“God damn it, stop it,” Rodney mutters, coming to take that as well, nudging John away from everything interesting, cupping his face and kissing him to distract him. 

John can get behind that. He tugs on Rodney’s belt loops, grinning, pulling them toward the sofa. Mm, morning kisses, and Rodney. Good. 

“No,” Rodney says, yanking himself free and standing with his arms crossed, glowering. “Not with your friend right there! Jesus, Sheppard! Marta might walk in  _ any second _ !”

“She’s two,” John says, scrubbing at his hair and yawning. “She can’t get up the stairs yet. I think.”

If Rodney’s just gonna complain and take all the fun stuff away, John doesn’t see the point in staying. He snags Rodney’s coffee cup again on his way out, heading for a shower. Rodney follows, stepping on John’s heels and hissing complaints about having house-guests who stay forever. 

“I like it,” John says, shutting the bathroom door and stripping, giving Rodney back his empty mug. 

“Fuck you very much,” Rodney grumbles. 

“I owe her, Rodney, and so do you - she saved my life like… a million times,” John says, starting the shower and getting in. “Besides, I basically lived at her house, when she wasn’t even there, when I had nowhere to go.”

“You could’ve come here!” Rodney snaps, loud to be heard over the water. John dunks his head. “... said you weren’t running away!”

“I couldn’t get a house because of executive dysfunction, not some psychological bullcrap about not wanting to settle down with you,” John drawls, rolling his eyes. Rodney seems to have latched onto the whole ‘almost homeless’ thing. Seems to think it means it’s easier for John to up sticks and fuck off back to Afghanistan. Like he’d do that.

“Fine. She can stay,” Rodney says. “I want a decent breakfast, though.”

“I’ll make you bacon to go on the weird banana pancakes,” John promises. 

“Ok. And more coffee,” Rodney bargains. 

“Plenty. All of it your heart desires. I’ll test fly that engine you and Radek keep blowing up, too,” John says. 

“And, again, fuck you,” Rodney says. “I knew you were homeless because you were just waiting on the next opportunity to get yourself in danger! You have a house now, and me, and Marta and Teyla and Torren and a  _ Lorne _ !”

“You better get it right first time, then,” John says. He’s finished showering, he turns it off and climbs back out, runs his wet hands over Rodney’s hair to make it stick up. “Towel?”

“Seriously,” Rodney says, wrapping one angrily around John so tight he can’t get his arms free for a moment. 

“I know, I know; fuck me,” John says, then grins and kisses Rodney, arms still pinned by the towel. 

“I hate you,” Rodney says, before bustling out, calling “Bacon and coffee!” over his shoulder before thundering down the stairs. 

* * *

Teyla’s still there on Wednesday when John has a day off and Rodney has a day off and they planned to spend it sprawled in front of the TV. Teyla’s in there doing some kind of baby and mother yoga thing, so that plan’s out. It’s only twelve, but they’re all up because Marta got up at god knows what time of the crack of dawn and nearly pitched down the stairs because Rodney, going for midnight snacks, sleepily forgot to close the gate thing Teyla fixed up. Teyla’s high pitched wail of shock had woken everyone up and the adrenaline of seeing Marta at the bottom of the stairs, lying on her back, had got John right the way awake. She’d just been playing with Gwaihir and perfectly happy, but he didn’t know that yet then. Anyway, they’re neither of them in the best mood and their TV plans are dashed, so they go for a walk. 

“It’s freezing,” Rodney complains. 

“I know,” John says, hands shoved in his pockets, jacket collar popped up, face buried in his scarf. 

“It’s wet,” Rodney says. 

“Yes,” John agrees, squinting into the drizzle. 

“I’m tired,” Rodney whines. 

“Ugh,” John growls, in whole-hearted sympathy. 

“If we take a left instead of a right we’ll get to Harry’s instead of the park,” Rodney says. 

“I knew I loved you for a reason,” John says, swinging a right, cheering up. 

Harry’s is a dinner slash coffee shop slash bar slash comic book store that serves amazing coffee and the best home-made cakes and fake-bacon that even Rodney will eat. They jog the last few metres as the drizzle turns to proper rain and bundle inside the steam-ed up store, laughing, Rodney grabbing John’s elbow as he stumbles. 

“Morning, guys, your houseguest still in residence?” ‘Harry’ calls from behind the counter. 

His name isn’t Harry, but he says it’s like the Dread Pirate Roberts - the guy who used to be Harry passed it down to him. He must carry the name and the legacy and create excellent cake. And, so, just maybe they’ve been coming here a lot to escape their house. John loves Teyla to bits, he lived practically on top of her for years, but now she’s got a baby and he’s used to having space and he never realised how damned comfortable he’s gotten. 

“Coffee, whatever cake is best today, I’ll take whatever Batman you have that I haven’t read before, and John is on a Birds of Prey kick,” Rodney says, heading for a table. “Oh, and we wanted to try that new card game you have in, with the weird runes on the front.”

“Rise of the Ancients,” Harry says, nudging Rodney firmly in the direction of the table he wants them at - it’s by the window and John can sit with his back to the room, it’s fine. “It’s really good. You want everything at once?”

“Yeah,” John says, slumping into the cushions on the bench and smiling. It’s so warm and comfortable and Rodney’s hair is sticking up everywhere, soft with the humidity. “Hey, did I tell you recently I love you?”

“Yeah, frequently, to butter me up,” Rodney says, scowling, arms going crossed over his chest again. It’s such a familiar posture and expression and John feels his smile widening. “You look ridiculous, what’s your face doing?”

“It’s called smiling,” John says, not able to stop. Harry brings them cake and coffee before Rodney can get in any more digs, and the cards and comics. John hands over his credit card. 

“Fine,” Rodney says. “Ditto. This hasn’t got-”

“No lemons,” Harry says. “No lemons anywhere. Lemons are verboten.”

“Good,” Rodney says, taking a huge bite of cake and spreading his comic out to read. 

John sips his coffee and has a bite of cake, has a go at the comic. His vision’s a bit blurry and focussing on things makes his stomach ache. He didn’t feel like exhausted this morning, but it suddenly drags at him. It happens sometimes, he’s used to it, it’s so frustrating though. There are so many things he wishes he could do, but he can’t. Not like this. Like this, he can’t even play properly with Marta and Torren, can’t just enjoy his brunch with Rodney. 

“I might head back,” John mutters, pushing away the comic and the cards. 

  
  


“What? Why?” Rodney asks. “Oh. No, just sit. Stick on a podcast if you like. Oh! I have a doctor who audiodrama downloaded on my phone.”

“I dunno.”

“It’s the second doctor,” Rodney wheedles. “It has Jamie in it.”

John gives in, slumping amongst the cushions, letting his brain turn to mush. He uses Rodney’s headphones, they’re nicer than his own. He likes Jamie, maybe once it was a sort of crush but mostly it’s just a fondness. Jamie and the second doctor weren’t his first doctor who and companion, but they were his favourite growing up. He slides in and out of focus, letting the world drift away, tethered by Rodney as he hums and talks to himself and plays the Rise of the Ancients with Harry, who’s having a slow day, who doesn’t mind a bit that John’s making like a lump in the corner. 

* * *

John gets home on Friday to a busy house - Ronon’s brought Torren down and stuck around, filling up space. It’s good to see him so John doesn’t comment, just subjects himself to one of Ronon’s bear-hugs and sits on the floor in the livingroom with Torren and Marta while Teyla throws herself at page 67 of the cookbook she’s currently working through. 

“I never knew Teyla cooked,” Ronon says. 

“I think it’s just when she’s stressed,” John says, accepting a chewed block from Marta. Torren’s playing dolls and dress up, he’s wearing a princess dress and glittery shoes and has the dolls stuffed into a wooden fire engine, all in their ‘most beautying dresses’, off to save a kitten from a fire. “You staying?”

“Nah,” Ronon says, stretching out on the sofa. “Might grab a nap here.”

“Go ahead, Rodney’s gone out for cocktails with Carson and Laura, won’t be home to whine about extra guests for hours yet,” John says. 

Ronon falls asleep pretty easily. John leaves Torren to play quietly, scoops Marta up, and goes to sit in the kitchen. Teyla glares at him. 

“Tell me about it,” he suggests, kicking out a chair. “It must be bad to stay away this long.”

“It isn’t,” Teyla says. “I was just finding everything overwhelming. My activism, my art, my work, Kanaan. It’s…”

“Did he do something?” John asks. 

“No. Not like you are thinking. He is just straight and cis,” Teyla says, then sighs, leaning against the counter, turning off the stove. “You go and you talk to Lorne’s parents, about being a queer parent. I am right here.”

“I know,” John says. “I didn’t seek them out for that, Barry brought it up, she asked me. You know I don’t talk easy.”

“Then, I too am asking you,” Teyla says. “Do you want it? Did you?”

“Yeah,” John says, shrugging. He can’t say that he wanted it so badly he hurt, when he was in his early twenties and flying and it was so impossible it was funny. Can’t tell her about feeling the weight and shape of his child in his arms, even heard their voice, could feel them running ahead when he walked places. 

“Badly,” Teyla says, hearing it anyway, or an echo of it. John nods. “What changed?”

“Not sure. Me, my circumstances. I made peace with it before it was possible, and I… shaped my life differently,” John says. “I thought about it again, when Rodney… asked.”

“But you decided no?” Teyla asks. John gives Marta a little bounce, but she’s sleepy and just wants to thunk a plastic spoon on the table in a slow rhythm - she’s happy. 

“I decided I don’t want that,” John says. “Teyla, I…”

“It is hard, to be queer and to be Black, and to have these two children I have to bring up and educate about this… it’s pain,” Teyla says. “Kanaan doesn’t see it as important. He sees the racism, but not… I feel invisible.”

“OK,” John says. 

“Tell me again it will be alright,” Teyla says. 

“It will be great,” John says. “You’ll teach them the joy of it, too, and give them that. And safety. You, um… you’re a really great mother, and you…uh, did you want to hear that? Or that you’re other work is important too?”

“Other work,” Teyla says. “Yes, it is work, to be a mother.”

“Mm.”

“Kanaan has been ringing. We have been talking,” Teyla says. “I do not want to overstay my welcome. I’m sure Harry’s is a nice place, but it isn’t home.”

“Ah,” John says, scrunching up his face. Teyla laughs at him. “Stay, honestly, we’ll manage.”

“Thank you. I will return home on Sunday, if I might stay just two more nights,” Teyla says. 

“Of course, yes, and Torren as well,” John says. 

“Thank you. Give me Marta, go find Rodney and break the news to him,” Teyla says, grinning. 

John thinks it’s a great idea to do that while Rodney is mellow. 

* * *

Rodney sleeps at Carson’s on Friday night. He’s grouchy all day Saturday. He assures Teyla it’s because he’s hungover and not because of her, but he then spends half an hour in the office with John complaining. He does it quietly and when he’s done he emerges ready to tell Teyla she’s more than welcome to stay, and to play with Marta and Torren. 

“You should marry him,” Teyla says. They’re sat out on the deck, Rodney chasing the kids around the small garden, down to the barbeque and back up. 

“I don’t believe in it, nor does he,” John says. “I don’t need it.”

“Do you want it?”

“I’ve done enough soul-baring, Teyla, I can’t…” John leans over to give her a gentle kick. 

“Sorry. It’s not like I am married to Kanaan, or want that either,” Teyla says. “I thought you more a traditionalist.”

John laughs so hard beer comes out of his nose. Teyla looks smug, she waits until he’s done half-choking before listing all the things about him that are ‘traditional’, and all the ways his politics are ‘conservative’. He takes it for a bit then goes to get himself another beer and tips her out of the porch chair on his way past. She laughs, a sound finally, fully happy, and lies on her back out there, content on the ground. It’s a nice afternoon, weak sunshine and the children in a good mood. John gets tipsy and they order pizza in for dinner, using Rodney’s money. 

“I’ll be glad to get our house back,” Rodney says, later, in bed, the end of the doctor who audio playing out the theme tune. “I’ll miss them though.”

“Really?” John asks, hand resting on Rodney’s stomach under his shirt. He feels warm and good, it’s nice to feel his steady breathing. John’s not quite sleepy yet but getting them. 

“Honestly! It’s not like I can have anything close to an academic discussion with  _ you _ ,” Rodney says. 

“Right. And you know what you can do with that?” 

“Go jump into the river?”

“Yeah. More or less. Close enough. We can visit. We can always let Ronon crash here, make up the deficit. He’s tall enough to count as two people,” John says. 

“Um, definitely not, he’d eat us out of house and home within a day,” Rodney says. Then sighs dramatically and waves a hand in the air above them. “If he needs a place, he can stay here, me casa es su casa.”

“Honest, though, Rodney,” John says, earnestly, wanting to say thanks. Rodney slaps a hand over his mouth though. John wriggles free and bites his shoulder. 

“Ow! You asshole,” Rodney says, knuckling at John’s hair before wrestling him into a slightly violent hug. “They’re my friends as well, I’m glad she’s ok. She is okay?”

“Yeah. Kanaan’s coming down to collect them all tomorrow.”

“Tail between his legs?”

“Honestly? I think she made him read back issues of a bunch of journals,” John says. Rodney laughs softly, arms tightening around him, and John grins. “That’s what she made me do last time I fucked up and left her to do the work.”

“Yeah, you’re such a fuck up. I should make you read journals,” Rodney says. 

“I fly your planes and do your math,”

“I’ll add it to the sky writing,” Rodney says, laughing again. “He makes me dinner and comes home when I panic, flies my planes and does my math.”

“I love you smartly,” John whispers, almost asleep now.

“I’ll chuck you in the river before jumping in myself,” Rodney says. 

“Mm, swimming, let’s do that tomorrow.”

“Go to sleep,” Rodney says. 

So John does, getting his arms around Rodney, safe and warm and so, so happy. 


End file.
